My First Home?

I am in love.

The sweetest house is for sale in my neighborhood. Right now, I'm a renter, and though I my landlord is great, and my apartment is cute (wood floors, fireplace, stained glass), it's not mine. I can paint, but not strip all the white paint off the wood doors. I can have a little garden in the backyard, but not fix the worn-down back porch. Of course, these are certainly small things. And I know that the responsibility that comes with home ownership is huge--no landlord to turn to when, say, the radiator is spurting water 2 1/2 feet up my dining room curtain.

But I LOVE this house. It's been on the market for a few months now, and I've been drooling since I first saw the sign in the front yard. Since I moved into my apartment, I've thought that if I did eventually buy, I'd want it to be in the same neighborhood--featured in This Old House magazine recently. It's full of old, beautiful houses, big old trees, right on a huge park, and friendly people. The house I want is actually located across the street and two houses over from the two neighbors I've become friends with (one of whom is also a single female UCC pastor who adopted--go figure!).

This house needs a little updating, but clearly has "good bones." I'm also not a person who likes a "move-in ready" house. I enjoy DIY projects and putting my own style and personality in things--and that can be done slowly, over time.

The biggest stumbling block between me and this house, however, is the down payment. I've got nothing, and with the market crash and reports of bad mortgages, banks are very wary of making those kinds of loans (as am I in requesting one). I've taken the first few steps--cut back on my monthly expenses ("bye bye" cable, home internet, and iPhone), getting intentional about paying down my debt (I paid off two credit cards this month!), and working to build my "liturgical lovely" shop on Etsy to earn extra money. However, that down payment is still pretty far away.

That's where you come in. More than one person, in response to my dilemma, has suggested fundraising or "taking an offering" to help me clear this hurdle. Being a big believer in community and helping each other out, I'm taking their suggestions. Below is a button you can click that will allow you to donate to "Beth's Down Payment Fund" through PayPal. I haven't figure out how yet, but I will thank each donor in some special way.

I woke up this morning with visions of car washes and lawn-raking dancing through my head. I'm willing to work hard towards my goals, but also willing to ask for help, knowing that I'll get the chance to do the same for others some day, and that many hands make light work. Or, as one friend said, "Every little bit helps."

Thank you, and God bless.

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None Shall Pass...or something like it

Below is the sermon I preached Sunday on Mark 10:17-31. I had considered simply "performing" it, with no intro, feeling it would probably have more power that way, but in the end decided that speaking about my process and how the sermon came to me was good to share. The title of the sermon originally doesn't seem to quite fit anymore, but I haven't come up with a new one. This is a slam-poetry type piece (Google if you're unfamiliar with the style), although I didn't do it full-out because I wasn't sure how that would be received. In hindsight, I wonder if I should've just gone for it, if I am underestimating my congregation. Well, anyway, enough explaining--here it is!

Before I preach my actual sermon, let me give you a little intro. Perhaps some of you have realized by now that pastors cannot predict how the Spirit will move, and that however good our intentions or ideas or sermon titles, sometimes things don’t go exactly how we planned. A couple weeks ago Pastor Mike mentioned that he’d chosen his focus text because he didn’t understand it, and despite all his research, it hadn’t become much clearer by Saturday night.

A similar thing happened to me this week. I admit I chose the focus text partly because it avoided the whole wealth issue in passage. I figured I’d pushed enough with my words sermon, I might want to back off a little this month. I planned on addressing how hard it is for anyone to enter the kingdom of God, planned on talking about how the kingdom is here now and is yet to come. I thought my sermon title, “None Shall Pass!” taken from a scene in Monty Python and the Holy Grail, was clever.

But the sermon wouldn’t come, and wouldn’t come, and wouldn’t come. Usually when I’m wrestling with writing, it’s because I know what I want to say, and just haven’t figured out quite how to say it. This week it seemed I wasn’t even sure what to say. So I finally did what I’d neglected to do from the start: I prayed. Yes, sometimes even we pastors get so focused on getting things done that we forget important things like involving God in what we preach.

I decided not to just pray for help to figure it out. I prayed that the Holy Spirit might move through me and inspire me and that I would write what God wanted me to preach. Well, a word to the wise: prayer is not a toy, should not be used lightly, and those who use it better be prepared for the answer.

I wish I could stand up here this morning and tell you he didn’t really mean it.

I wish I could explain to you this morning that it’s all just a big misunderstanding:

That the Greek word for camel is very similar to the word for rope—

so maybe it’s just been mis-translated.

That some people say there was a small gate in Jerusalem

called the eye of the needle

And camels had to be emptied of just enough baggage to get through.

I wish I could assure you this morning that he didn’t mean us,

That his message was for people who are really wealthy

like Bill Gates and Warren Buffet and the Queen of England.

I wish I could tell you this morning that maybe possession is a metaphor,

a way of talking about anything we hold onto tighter than God,

anything in our lives that puts a barrier between us and the kingdom,

not actually all the stuff we own.

I wish I could talk history and economics this morning,

share that in Jesus’ time there was only a set amount of money

and selling everything to give the money to the poor really would help balance the system

but now it wouldn’t make much difference anyway.

I wish, this morning, that I could make this Word easier to hear,

remove the discomfort

soften the message

give you a simple sermon

that would explain it all away

or at least make it uncomplicated.

But I can’t do any of those things.

Looking at you, I love you, and so I say:

This is a Word to be wrestled with:

to be poked

and prodded

and pondered

and percolated

and PRAYED.

Because, see, this is Jesus, the Word of God

Who preaches the Gospel

the Good News

And Good does not mean nice

or gentle

or fun

or easy.

This story is hard to hear,

hard to preach,

hard to ignore.

We get that knot in our stomach

that furrow in our brow

that squirm in our seat

because we get it.

We get the shock and grief and the sadness the man felt.

We don’t want to give up our possessions either.

We get the questions the disciples asked.

We want to know who can be saved, too.

We get that maybe we can’t explain it away

that maybe we can’t bring our stuff into the kingdom of God,

that maybe we can’t get ahead in this life

without falling behind in the next.

We get that maybe God doesn’t like it

when some have too much

and some not enough.

We get that maybe we can’t avoid Jesus looking right at us,

and we wish Jesus didn’t demand so much.

We wish following the commandments—which are hard enough—

was enough.

We wish we could just live as we have been since our youth,

and not wonder if we’re missing something.

We wish following Jesus wasn’t so risky

so bold

so counter-cultural

and that it didn’t seem so impossible.

Impossible for us, yes

but not for God.

Now, I don’t know:

Maybe he didn’t really mean it.

Maybe it is just all a big misunderstanding

and we got the words wrong,

missed Jesus’ real point.

Maybe his message is really intended not for us

but for the really rich.

Maybe “selling possessions” really does just mean

clearing our lives to focus on God.

Maybe the change in time and economic systems

really does make the action irrelevant now.

Maybe.

But Jesus, looking at us, loves us,

welcomes us,

challenges us,

invites us.

But Jesus, looking at us, offers us love,

instruction,

eternal life,

grace.

But Jesus, looking at us, hopes that we find the courage

to wrestle

to question

to follow.

Let us pray: Redeeming Christ, you ask so much of us, and yet we know that you give your love and grace freely and abundantly, that we never have to earn it with the things we do. Build us up with that love, that we might have the courage to risk following you into God’s realm. Amen.

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Why go to church?

I recently joined a dating website, and while many aspects of people's profiles have been interesting to me, one thing I've noticed in particular is how people describe their religious beliefs (when they do at all). Often it's a "I grew up such-and-such but don't go now except on holidays," but I've seen quite a few who say outright that they just don't believe in organized religion because they don't think one should be required to go to church in order to achieve salvation--or something to that effect.

Huh? Now, perhaps I didn't pay close enough attention to what tradition they said they grew up in, if they said at all. Maybe they all come from the same one, and that's where they get that idea.

I, however, am of the mindset that church is not for God. It's for God's people. I know there are many out there who will strongly disagree with me, call me a product of the "Me" generation, raised to be a consumer with all my wants and needs catered to. There's validity to that point, but perhaps that's another post.

What I'm saying is that I just don't believe in such a self-centered God who would require that everyone come and pay homage--aka worship--every week to stay in God's good graces. This is certainly how weekly services started, and obviously there are still many places that promote this, or people wouldn't be making these statements against it.

So why go to church at all then? Well, to be honest, there are plenty of Sundays I've asked myself that same question, and found plenty of things I needed or wanted to do instead of attend a church service. (In seminary, particularly my first year, I admit that after a week of classes and homework, the last thing I felt I needed was another day spent talking and thinking about God!)

But I think what it comes down to is community. Most of us live, work, and interact in places where living a Christian life is not a central focus. It is something that for the most part remains within the walls of our home, if not even further hidden in our own hearts and minds. In my experience those with more conservative beliefs tend to be more open about their faith, while those in more liberal traditions keep it to themselves. Think about how a typical day might go:

1. Get up, get ready for work-- Maybe there's some time spent reading the Bible or saying a prayer, but it's more likely it's rushing around to get out the door.

2. Travel to work--This may involve public transportation and/or a stop for coffee, maybe not. In either case, is the barista asking you how you'll be living out Jesus' message this morning, or are you discussing with the guy next to you on the subway how you feel God is calling you to a new place? Didn't think so.

3. Work-- If you're particularly close to co-workers, you may have at some point breached the subject of religion, or had it done for you somehow (Ash Wednesday is usually good for that). Even then, it's usually broad mentions of choir practice or an event, rather than theological discussion. Otherwise, religion (and politics) are usually taboo.

4. Travel home from work--See #2.

5. After work-- Gym, activities (kids' or your own), television.

6. Go to bed-- Perhaps you said a prayer before going to sleep. Good for you.

Hm, not much time for God in there! Perhaps, if you're like me, there are a thousand moments during the day when you turn to God. A quick prayer for someone's health, a petition for help in a stressful moment, a "what would Jesus do" reflection after being cut off in traffic, etc. But those are all internal and personal.

Church gives us the opportunity to follow Christ with others. We are not alone. It is a place to be held accountable, to be supported, to question and doubt and believe. That hour on Sunday is perhaps the only time in our week when we get to remind ourselves of the larger community of believers to which we belong. It is an opportunity for God to be not simply a fleeting internal thought in the midst of life's chaos, but the focus of our attention and outwardly expression in words, songs, prayers, laughter, and tears. The church began because individual believers gathered together in each others' homes (under threat of persecution, no less) to share their journeys.

I went to church for the first time in quite a while (since before I graduated if you don't count the two weeks I led the service) this past Sunday, a Catholic mass that preceded the baptism of my friend's baby boy. When a misunderstanding surfaced and it seemed we wouldn't get out the door in time for Mass, I became unusually upset. I needed church, and had been looking forward to it all week. We made it, a little late. The liturgy was unfamiliar, but God was present in that place, and it felt good to be surrounded by others on the journey. After the priest presented the four children to be baptized, he held them each aloft a la Rafiki in "The Lion King." I got tears in my eyes at the joy I felt as we welcomed these children into the community. I could feel the hopes and prayers for their lives and their relationship with God palpably.

Ah, THIS is why I go to church.

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I'm Back! First Reflections on NOLA

Phew! It's been a whirlwind couple of weeks. First, I took an intensive 1-week course at another seminary. The day after it ended, I left for New Orleans on a mission trip. I'm starting to catch up on e-mail and get back into my normal routine, but I am still deep in reflection about my experience in NOLA.

I would say that the strongest impression I have about the city of New Orleans is that it is a study in contrasts: black and white, destruction and rebuilding, culture and tackiness, hope and despair.

Many in my group were suprised at how many places in New Orleans are still destroyed and deserted. In any given neighborhood that suffered severe flooding in the aftermath of Hurricane Katrina in 2004--for the storm itself caused little damage-- there may be as many as half the houses still with crumbling walls, spray-painted X's on the front, and tattered blue tarps on the roof. Large strip malls in those neighborhoods were still empty. On the other hand, it is clear that New Orleans is slowly but surely renewing itself. Piles of debris on the sidewalk meant someone was returning home to clean-up, repair, or rebuild. Stores had "we're back!" signs in the window.

There is still much work to do, however. One of the most striking moments for me was driving to our work site through a higher-end neighborhood with some truly gorgeous (and huge) houses. One house, which could almost qualify as a mansion, looked just fine, until I took a second look and realized it was still empty. The stone fountain in the backyard was tilted in the ground, and the curtains looked ragged. I wondered about the home's owners. Why had they not come back? Financial reasons? Had their insurance company not given them the money they needed to repair the damage? Were they afraid of another storm, or of the high crime rate? I don't know.

In the days and weeks following the flooding, as the death toll rose, the SuperDome emptied, and the waters subsided, I heard various comments about God's role in the disaster, including comments that equated the damage with God's wrath for the sinfulness of the Big Easy. Theologically, I don't believe in that type of thing--particularly because I believe that God is on the side of the poor, and they were the most affected by the events of Katrina. I do, however, believe that God's presence in New Orleans is now quite evident. From the resolve of natives to make things right, to the young people in AmeriCorps working to rebuild, to the multitude of groups from all over the country who continue to make trips to help out in whatever way they can, I saw God working to restore the city.

The group I traveled with ranged in age from 25-68, some with high skill level in construction and some who'd never even picked up a hammer, and yet we all were disappointed when we couldn't work as much as we wanted to. I fell in love not only with the city of New Orleans (I'm already trying to figure out when I can return), but with the people in our group. I'm sure I'll reflect more on this experience in the weeks to come, but for now, I am simply grateful to have worked with such an amazing group of people in such an amazing place.

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